Roger Federer, our sublime tennis hero reborn, adorned in a shimmering blue sweater, eyes glistening, bathed in amber sunlight, crown intact, moves serenely into a bank of microphones surrounded by an always aggressive media corps…
You won the prize, Roger. Your world has been righted…your critics subdued. They are all singing your praises now that you have won your fifth straight US Open crown. You are master of your domain.
The yo-yo press is taking its lumps in style. Even petulant old desk jockeys parrot a new refrain, anointing Roger King for a Day. Massive back-pedaling progresses. In the midst of all of this melodramatic crow eating, however, an uncertainty surfaces.
Somehow, the accolades are less ebullient and the victory hangover less pervasive than in 2007, when the entire press corps agreed that excluding red clay, our boy was golden, perfect and practically unbeatable. Roger believed it, too. As did we all.
It is understandable. As a society, we are harsh —even fickle. We worship youth and beauty enhanced by sustained mental, physical and spiritual excellence. We cannot forgive or accept imperfections in our heroes, especially the press—aka, the forecasters of the fatal flaw.
Confined unwittingly to a bell jar, the sports wing of the fourth estate awaits the fall, the disintegration, and another catastrophic collapse. The end product is the ultimate break-through story. As streaks unfold, the press predicts and analyzes not only what happened but more profoundly what will happen tonight, tomorrow or at the end of the season.
All the while, on-air commentators hope for a final break, a release allowing a breath of fresh air into a predictable but often stale world order. The press needs change, shifting focus and new personalities in order to breathe life into their words and their interpretation of events. Otherwise, they remain trapped in their vacuum and cease to be relevant.
The reversed stance on the Mighty Federer’s career after the 2008 US Open victory represents a reprieve and not an absolution. Roger understands this now.
In 2008, he fell to earth. Federer’s escalation to the top of men’s tennis resulted in a prolonged flight too close to perfection. While there, he soared above his competition with a display of tennis acumen that left his competition seemingly flat-footed and chained to the ground.
Reporters exhausted an extensive reserve of superlatives in describing the game of Roger Federer for 4½ years.
As his wings began to melt in January of 2008, Roger could no longer sustain his ethereal level of play. His downward trajectory, however, allowed him a different perspective. As he tumbled toward earth, he learned about existing within the reality of his sport.
All the hours he spent courting the media jesters, reacting to their deadlines, their pleas for more substance, to add more grist for the media mill—were rewarded in 2008 by diatribes about Roger’s ineffective footwork, his age, his inability to summon his best, his dearth of effort, will and his mental and physical exhaustion. They were already anointing another No. 1 before he hit the ground and bounced down to No. 2.
The relationships he felt he had cultivated in the sports world had evaporated. The respect Roger felt he deserved was denied. His disappointment and disillusionment were palpable in his demeanor and through his remarks. Inevitably, the next loss Roger Federer suffers will bring a return of the negative back hand of the press.
Even though Roger feels he lost the media war, he won thousands of new fans. He regained his form and is on the verge of soaring again, perhaps not quite as high or for quite so long.
The stratosphere is a bit more crowded these days. Competition is intense. But Federer is back and the tennis world is more complete for his ascension. There will, however, never be another tennis athlete to fly so long and so close to the sun…
Wiser and better equipped to deal with his demons, our splendid hero now perches high on a balcony overlooking the courtyard being celebrated by thousands of onlookers. Ready to compete in the Davis Cup, our handsome Swiss hero smiles and waves to his grateful fans.
Finally he turns back to the press smiling, strumming slowly, recalling the lyrics of an old rock classic penned by the acidic troubadour Bob Dylan…you’ve gotta lotta nerve…
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